Game TF:Prime
by andshecryz
Summary: Dreadwing x Oc (Set before season two.)
1. Press Play

**Disclaimer: Transformer character names belong to Hasbro Studios, Steven Puri, Mandy Safavi (and so on) unless stated an OC which in case belong to the author, andshecryz. No copyright infringement is intended. Plagiarism is theft so is prohibited. Do not copy or create a reproduction of this work in any language without express written authorization of the author, andshecryz. Thank you...Please enjoy c:**

**Dreadwing x Cybertronian Oc**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 1; Press Start  
**

* * *

She glanced at the once serene skyline, recalling the time where it had displayed the very tips of Cybertron's buildings and continuous movement of its inhabitants. What was left was simply rubbish; masked by the everlasting darkness of the sky which had formed from the chaos that had taken this city and drowned it in an inferno of war. She swallowed hard...the feeling chaste against the metal of her throat as the femme struggled to recall what the city of her creation had originally looked like.

Even those who'd been raised within the depths and ghetto of the forgotten ruins could only guess it's name. Ronus had been beaten into nothing but pieces...and even now as she and her fellow Wreckers hid within the darkness, on a mission, she couldn't help but analyze the blackened and destroyed skyscrapers that were now reduced to nothing but shacks and metal plates sticking out of the ground. The air, she noted, was crisp despite the smell of burning alloys...the feel of it against her playing being rather calm and soothing even in their cornered situation.

"Synopsis, what's going on?" He asked as if she actually knew.

"I don't fragging know...you tell me Jack!"

"Just answer the fragging question." Wheeljack grimaced as the femme beside him looked through a peephole, the growing conflagration and seemingly endless destruction blinding her view of the Decepticons searching for their group. It was dark...too dark to see clearly even with the small fires scorching the leftovers of the town and flickering more small shines of light against the armor of passing Vehicons. One nearly stumbled over himself, making her wonder just how 'elite' this team really was.

"We're vastly outnumbered..." She mumbled it more to herself, bitterly wincing at the reply she'd received.

"What else is new?"

"Shut up for _one_ second?!"

"Would you two quit bickering?!" Seaspray groaned out of a growing irritation, his patience wearing thin as he held his arm cannon steady and knelt further behind the wall of the roofless metal shack they sat it. It was bad enough that they'd been spotted in their first attempt to retrieve the device...the last thing he wanted to hear was the all too familiar sound of his colleagues arguing like a rusted down couple.

"Hop off Jackie's aft, would ya' Synopsis?"

"Highride shut up! I wouldn't be _'on his aft'_ if he hadn't taken this scrap-heap of a mission in the first place!" The neon-red mech sighed in defeat at her persistent anger, his optics rolling at both the group leader and femme sniper in response to their constant immaturity.

"Hey! We need payment right now...I wouldn't be complaining, Ops."

"Jack shut your mouth plates! This is all your fault...at least admit to that. We're fragging surrounded by 'Cons, and the worst part...I think the group is being led by Skyquake...either him or Dreadwing, I can't tell the two apart without confrontation." The white femme again muttered bitterly as she continued glancing through the hole in the wall, her right optic rotating to increase focus on the main 'Con as she readied her wrist pistols for action. It was Dreadwing, she assumed; having recently learned that his twin's presence was demanded elsewhere by Megatron himself. The small clicks of her blasters matched the movement of her lips as they quirked in curiosity; catching Jack's unwanted attention.

"What in Primus do you think you're doing?" Wheeljack slammed the palm of his servo into the base of the femme's head, her already thin optics narrowing rather spitefully in response to the unnecessary action.

"I'll run out...I'm the fastest. It's a group of Vehicons...so they'll just shoot what they see. The rest of you grab whatever it is we were sent for-"

"-The processor manipulation program?" Seaspray managed a coarse whisper as he leant against the back wall with a groan, being all too ungraceful.

"S-sure whatever...just make sure you get it and get out."

"Are you _glitched_?! What's your malfunction thinking that you'll survive this?!" Wheeljack stepped forward as best as he could in the crowded space; his servo fisted and threatening as he argued with the femme. She simply rolled her optics in reply; the small smirk tugging at her lip components going unnoticed from the dark atmosphere.

"Who said anything about surviving? If anything I'll probably be offlined in the line of duty. About time don't ya' think?" She playfully nudged his arm with her elbow and the usual smirk, a sense of fear enveloping the femme at her own comment.

"Synopsis we're not letting you go alone."

"Highride...I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. Trust me. Besides...they have the program, so it's guarded. You'll need three big, strong, fearless mechs to get it back." She pouted jubilantly as if carefree and mocking towards her companions.

"When I'm done...send for clean up." The femme winked, her smile broadening as she patted Wheeljack's arm reassuringly. He'd made her a Wrecker...he'd given her a chance...and for that she was thankful. He was the only one in her life who'd ever kept his word, and had never let her down. Jack always left her expectant and never disappointed; it was one of his better leadership qualities.

She swiftly turned around the thick metal slab of the shack they'd been hiding in and ran, the wheels on her feet spinning at an irrational speed as she began shooting at each target with impressive aim. Aim and strategy was all she was famous for...strength...not so much.

She laughed as if enjoying herself; for once she ignored the war beyond her...she ignored the destruction and pain that, in all honesty, she'd never really minded. Synopsis looked past the fact that the first city she'd walked in was gone and nothing but shards and fragments of melted metal...the femme grinned because she was alive. And because she was entertained. All this time she was criticized for her 'fun', for her 'pleasure'. The few people she'd confessed it to said it was wrong...they said it was cruel and only something a 'Con would say was 'gratifying'. Killing was a release...an expression and a freedom that she could maintain within a near-perfect world that had never once concerned her. Almost an art. Apparently no other Bot saw it that way, no one else made it a game and no one else appreciated the smell or crisp appearance of freshly spilt energon.

What they'd become was nothing short of monsters as they ripped eachother apart plate by plate...and as often as she denied it the femme preferred it that way. She liked the gore, the fear, the battles of will and belief that kept the fire of their eternal disagreements burning. This apparently left her untrustworthy, selfish, disgusting, crude, and ignorant. It forced criticism upon her as if a plague infecting her innermost circuits. Yet...she was an Autobot...and for the greater good a Wrecker. Because Wheeljack was an Autobot...and because Wheeljack was a Wrecker.

All of the 'Bots had talked trash...they had all saw her as some kind of malfunctioned scrap heap because of her interests. Everyone but the Wreckers. Wheeljack understood. He accepted her minor flaw obviously caused by a fried circuit located in the frontal lobe of her processor. The single circuit that gave her a sense of empathy wasn't functional...and he didn't give a damn.

Her thoughts were once again brought into reality with a lively, but unnecessary, cartwheel that sent her off the edge of an old rusted platform as she continued shooting with immaculate aim, at one point wishing that she were comfortably situated in an abandon building or cliff edge watching and waiting to strike.

She missed her sniper duties, but apparently she was better suited for ground work. An opinion she would usually argue over, but nonetheless truthful despite her well-known reputation. Seaspray had said it himself; 'You're a natural fighter'. Of course he was right. She may have been afraid of close confrontation at first...scrap, even now! Moreover terrified of being offlined, but that hadn't stopped her.

No...no, she was dumb that way. She didn't mind.

A sudden burning sensation. A blast struck her plating and immediately her pain receptors were shut down on instinct. Now that severe black mark on her side was just a mild discomfort, barely capable of making her wince. Ops continued running while directing her firepower towards the sky. Seekers followed her trail, not much of a surprise considering their Captain was obviously a seeker himself, judging from the wings of his back.

An explosion mere feet in front of her caught her startled attention, sending the femme flying backwards and into a random slab of metal; a numb feeling quickly overwhelmed her senses, flickering her pain receptors on and off in a dizzying spree of confusion. She stood quickly and backed up, the rubbish beneath her stabilizing servos crackling under her weight and shifting with each quick step the Wrecker took. That blast was throbbing in her wiring now, sending chills of gratification at her luck of such a minor wound coursing through her pipes. But suddenly another hit her back, and another burnt her leg.

Synopsis groaned from frustration while keeping her receptors in check and firing constantly at her multiplying opponents; all growing closer and cornering her against her surroundings as they lowered their weapons. A stern mixture of relief and fear poked roughly at her wiring as the hissing sound of her sizzling armor caught her audio receptors.

"Scrap..." Ops mumbled under her breath, rubbing her glossa against the inner plates of her cheek before wiping a pinprick of energon away from her chin.

The troops froze, the several seekers landing behind the group before her and all seeming to part simultaneously like some trained congregation, splitting down the middle of their cirlce around her and awaiting some order. She made it a little joke to herself, trying to lighten the situation and annoyance of her loss as she watched these numbered lives act like the emotionless troops they truly weren't.

Then...he walked up through their freshly parted path. Armor pristine, untainted despite his many battles. Blue and gold, tall and masculine with a scowl matching his narrowed red optics perfectly. He somehow looked aerodynamic, that thought making no sense at all to the femme just as she admired his proud and unintentional air of a sinister appeal.

He seemed too perfect to fit the role of Decepticon lacky, but...she'd thought the same over Soundwave and Shockwave, both beyond capable of success on their own. This wasn't Skyquake, no...he walked with too much pride and not enough sunken disdaine for everything around him. The explosives that had caused her fall would have been so out of place if this were Skyquake. This mech...this proper and rather meticulous director and captain of a large armada was Dreadwing. A 'Con she personally found much worse than his counterpart.

Blue optics went wide at the unnerving silence, her wiring fidgeting under his thin glare as he studied her. White...a rather unusual color for a femme much less a scout. Too difficult to keep clean, and too obvious to the optic. She was small, swift, agile, and an excellent aim, he noticed, by the count of offlined 'Cons she'd left behind in her path. Impressive could be a likely term used to describe her exhibited skills, but she stood so frail; staring at him with terrified optics despite her will to take the lives of anyone else in her way.

She was cowardly, and Dreadwing could smell it through her coolant as she heavily scoffed in an attempt to catch her breath. He only wondered where her companions were. It was obvious such a small scout wouldn't attempt this alone, even the pay wouldn't have been worth it. Stealing such an important device from the firm grip of a Decepticon Captain alone was foolish...outright suicide.

"A femme?" There were hardly any around as of late...such easy targets throughout the consistent battles of the war.

"Dreadwing, I assume." Synopsis winced, just barely realizing that his explosion had unhitched the retina her right optic, the glow now dimming into a monotonous gray as the femme narrowed her sharp gaze. She was terrified. There was no coming out of this alright...there were too many. That made her inner wiring tense vividly, expressing the fear that bothered her into a shaken mess of metal.

"Most would confuse me with my twin." The word came out crisp and defined...'twin'. And how casual he spoke...it was almost stifling to listen to his small talk, knowing that he'd kill her without hesitation if necessary. First he might talk her to death with such an intelligent and thoughtful vocabulary, then rip out her spark when he was done.

"I've studied both of you as a precaution. Skyquake's too much of a blunder, and more importantly he's stationed on some remote planet for energon mining. I'm lucky...if you were your brother my spark would be shards by now." He narrowed his gaze, looking to the shakiness obvious in her right leg and the nonfunctioning optic that managed a dim flicker. Her teammates, the ones who'd failed in their first attempt in retrieving the program, wouldn't be far.

"I would advise you to cooperate." She coughed, unsure of what the simple phrase had fully implied. Ah...Wheeljack, Highride, Seaspray...all somewhere around this burning dump of leftovers probably, or hopefully, miles away with the device that they'd come for. Stolen right from under the 'Con's faceplates.

"Clever, but...it won't work." The way she spoke, so fearless despite her appearance. Despite her shivering and how tense she was, and despite her stiff expression of anxiety. Her expression deceived her.

"It would not hurt to try." He smirked, something she though was so off, so out of character despite her lack of knowledge of the 'Con himself. His stare was sharp; his servos both fisted and his movements completely controlled.

"I think it would."

* * *

**Alright...this sucks you guys. I have so many damn ideas for TFP Oc fics, and I'm not even done with my Soundwave one. Anyway, I'm currently vacationing in Missouri and through that'd I'd update what I wrote on the plane. Second chapter has maybe a paragraph to go before I post it. (After feedback of course.) c;**

** Plus, I want to see how people will take the chapter so far. If you guys approve then I'll add chapter two. :P**

** Love You Guise c:**


	2. Choose Team

**Dreadwing x Cybertronian Oc**

Terminology You Might Not Know;

Solar cycle; Measurement of time equivalent to an Earth day.

Scrap/Frag; Both slang terms, moreover a Cybertronian curse word.

Glossa; Cybertronian term for the tongue.

**_~Enjoy_**

**_Ch.2; Choose Team _**

* * *

She looked worn, somewhat cracked and broken in such a pathetic state of need and regression. Her one working optic winced as the claws surging deeper into her armor began to rip into the base coat of her paint...closing in on the thin sheet that protected her inner wiring. How he held her...so firmly with the tips of his claws digging into her arm, seemed almost careful and considerate of more sensitive wires. He held her like a favorite possession more of a prisoner, as if he was proud of his hostage.

Wheeljack made no effort to move, his frame tense and his face burdened with the daring expression he usually wore, backed by loss on either end. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place...forcing on the realization of either leaving Synopsis behind or surrendered the device; a device that had the potential to end the war in Decepticon or Autobot favor if used properly. Neither was a winning conclusion.

He bit his glossa in an attempt to hold back an agravated grunt. The mech stood on higher ground, atop a scrapped down frame of metal pieces and beams that had once been the most impressive of towers in Ronus. His faceplates pulled back as he briefly glanced at her, still keeping his focus on Dreadwing. She looked pained...hurt...weak...she looked like shit.

White plating was dirtied until a coal black, her appearance moreover miserable as she hung limply from one arm in the unwavering grasp of Dreadwing. Synopsis felt...useless. She wanted so bad to just scream at Wheeljack...tell him to leave her behind and somehow end up the sacrificial hero of this entire ordeal, but she couldn't. The other miserable part of her processor prevented her from doing so...reminding her of fear and pain even as she experienced both within the instance. She didn't want him to leave her...she didn't want to be blown to scrap and left for dead just as others had sacrificed themselves. But that program was beyond important. But she wanted to live...and she desperately wanted Wheeljack to know that. Yet the look in her single operational optic deceived such emotions and gave a stoic unrelenting stare that 'Ops hadn't meant to give off. It said 'hurry and leave' just as their current group leader had made up his mind.

Highride approached him, yelling. Their mouths moving but words deaf to her audio receptors from their distance and elevation, only allowing her to observe their body language as Highride pointed at her stiffly. The red mech's face scrunched up in disgust, shaking his helm as Wheeljack shook the device in his faceplates and then directed his attention to her. Highride shook his head and snatched it from his hand before walking behind him, planting his stabilizing servos beside Seaspray who stared at the ground, optics dimming between decisions.

Wheeljack nodded stiffly, and while exposing a distraught expression, turned his back to the femme and disappeared with Seaspray and Highride, both hesitant and looking back with tightened jaws and tense stances. Then they were gone...just like that. They had left her...just barely operational while literally in the single hand of a 'Con. A 'Con who had a reputation for offlining his captives for supposedly 'understandable' reasons.

'Ops could feel tears brimming at the edges of her optics as she stuttered a light gasp; disbelief being evident on her faceplate. The automobile faintly struggled, her attitude suddenly frantic as the femme realized that they weren't coming back. His hold tightened slightly as the mech raised a sharpened brow, the gold color looking brown in the dark.

"Wheeljack!" She screamed, an echo meddling it's way across the landscape of debris and scrap as she stared at their deserted places with wide optics. Her breathing quickened and the pain seemed to dull despite the operations of her receptors. Anger struck her wiring and she clawed at the servo holding her neck, a sense of insecurity forming around her. Wasn't she good enough? Didn't they want her?!

"Wheeljack..." She spat his name again through clenched teeth, a form of rage and bitterness overwhelming her circuits. He always said he'd never let her down...and now this? He always put the team before the mission, before anything! And now..._this_?!

"How odd that they would be willing to leave you behind. Somewhat _foolish_." His words broke her focus, the temper rising as the angry tension in her limbs dissipated at the Mech's tone, and she went slightly limp in his grasp.

Synopsis grimaced, her lip components seeming to snarl as her wiring once again pulled from her unkempt rage. There was that small emerging of hatred...of a thick despise that furthered itself from within the depths of her processor that was far more compelling and dangerous than just rage. All of this unfair treatment...all of her suffering and supposed punishments had gone on long enough.

She deserved more than this...all of this treachery and demise. 'Ops was a confident, strong, and smart figure that could run everyone who'd crossed her into the ground. Even Wheeljack...the mech who'd claimed to 'care' about her enough to just dump her behind and leave without even considering a relevant plan. He made her come on this mission...possibly just to get rid of her. No, _probably_ to get rid of her. In set the paranoia and self-loathing, blinding her sane judgement and making her inwardly snarl.

"...Somewhat." Dreadwing managed a crisp smirk at her answer. She wasn't as useless as she currently seemed...not to him anyway. He released the femme, watching her stumble to the ground and quiver back onto her feet, looking like a sparkling just emerging from it's berth.

"Assert yourself and gain a sense of honor towards the Decepticon cause. Do what you feel is appropriate." He had her. That sense of regret and rage fueling her sudden and unjustifiable need for revenge. He could see it clearly, spot it without question and capture it without difficulties. He already knew her...just by her reaction alone. Why terminate an Autobot who clearly hadn't fought for their cause? Why rid Cybertron of someone who could pose useful in their ranks? He wouldn't waste his time...he would be more prone on retrieving what was rightfully Megatron's, the one and only leader of the Decepticons. He could use her to a new advantage, and she would be undoubtedly useful.

"Was this a plan?" She asked it so skeptically, as if she hadn't been handed over as useless trade by the very bots she trusted.

"It would have been impossible to coordinate anything of this caliber without a full presentation of the outcome." The way he said things...the way he spoke and pronounced and the way his tone wavered with description. It was as though he took his time on each word, an unknown accent shadowed by that unintentionally fierce gaze of intimidation. His eyes were thin, sharp, narrow, and red...her large blue ones seeming dim in comparison and wide. She swallowed, watching as he strode past her and his excess troops with an air of power and strict confidence while he sheathed his sword. His steps were heavy, steadily crushing anything beneath them and ensuring the appearance of strength and durability. An Autobot could never be so...thought provoking, or so alluring just by minor and casual antics. Synopsis held her arm, the wiring frizzing a bit and making a spark or two fly as she nearly stumbled on her bad leg.

"What, do I go with _you_?" She managed the question and limped beside him, the sight pathetic. But she made up her mind. So quickly, and so foolishly out of spite and anger and blind observation. She wanted revenge, the reasons obvious as 'Ops set her finger components over the busted optic circuit. Dreadwing had done this...but they had left her, right?

"Decide before I change my mind..." The comment came out sinister, almost threatening as he narrowed his optics and glanced over his shoulder, the height he stood at making her shrink back and take in a quick breath.

"..." She bit her lower lip component, feeling uneasy and enraged as one servo clenched around her arm and the other fisted tightly. The conflagration had dimmed, and the atmosphere was brightening little by little as Cybertron's sun slowly began rising, the clouds of pollution and smoke looking gray against the rest of the sky. This planet was poisoned, she so often noted, it's core slowly rotting away from the war. All because of the Decepticons.

"I never did make a great Autobot..."

* * *

**Short. Chapter is short.**

**Anywho, updating from my phone again. Pain in the butt. Hope you all enjoy!**

**Please review! c: **


	3. Level One - Now

**Dreadwing x Cybertronian Oc**

Terminology You Might Not Know;

Solar cycle; Measurement of time equivalent to an Earth day.

Scrap/Frag; Both slang terms, moreover a Cybertronian curse word.

Glossa; Cybertronian term for the tongue.

Stabilizing Servo; Term for the foot.

Servo; Term for the hand.

**_~Enjoy_**

**_Ch.3; Level One -Now  
_**

* * *

"I've located the stocking hall." Synopsis smiled and winked before documenting the coordinates and downloading the internal map, thinking rapidly on excessive pieces of this mission. Seaspray rolled his optics before playfully shoving her to the side, a smirk crossing his lip components as he focused on the screen with a suddenly serious expression. Uncountable rows of symbols clouded his vision, and for a moment his processor ached from the database and its unnecessary codes moving from one side to the other.

"'Ops, we're glad to have you back." He turned and grinned at the femme, literally towering over her as most usually did with such a large difference in size. His servo roughly lugged against her back, unintentionally sending her forward a few feet from just a friendly pat to the shoulders.

"Uh, sorry." She just nodded; the annoyance being obvious for a just moment.

"It's...surprisingly good to be back." She laughed off his rugged blunder, the bulky size he was made with seeming unimportant considering he had no clue of his physical strength. He was average, she assumed. Something she'd never once even noticed much less cared about before her previous capture, a capture that had slapped reality directly into her face and forced a more…aware sense to make her anxious.

"_Surprisingly_? What's that mean?" He started walking beside her as if both were on cue, the conversation stretching into something she hadn't intended. Synopsis shrugged and rolled her neck wires, the stiff metal loosening with the movement as the recollection of wasted hours figuring out those coordinates nearly rusted her joints.

"He made me an offer, but...I figured you'd all had a plan. When I realized I was on my own I shifted gears and sped the frag out of there the moment that escape was an option." She mumbled it mostly, much to Seaspray's displeasure. He couldn't understand her as it was from their height difference, and her abnormally quite tone hadn't helped. This entire ordeal had changed her...so much that even Highride had said something about her wary behavior; her _questionable_ behavior.

"An offer? Like to join them?" He always asked questions, and she had always answered them without hesitation...until now. _Now_ it irritated her, he didn't need to know..._now_ it made no sense no matter how you looked at it. Because things were different now, and there was no _'trust'_ between any of them, especially after seeing Wheeljack leave his favorite femme to rot in the clawed hand of a Decepticon as he took off with a useless program, incapable of working without a ridiculous amount of unused energon.

Her expression changed at the though, the anger coming through bitterly and her servos fisting at her sides. Her gaze sharpened visibly and the tension she suddenly expelled between them grew at a rapid pace, making the mech beside her shift uncomfortably with the heavy sounds of stabilizing servos to the floor echoing and covering her own from his much larger and taller frame. Bright blue optics, tinted with a pale green, glanced down at the smaller with an expression of question and concern he hadn't minded to openly share. For the first time in his Wrecker career he swallowed...hard. Not out of nervousness, but from the lack of response to the suddenly dense and angry atmosphere 'Ops had created and made flow around her. Seaspray stopped in the middle of the hall, the coordinates still circulating around in his processor despite her withholding them.

"Yea, something like that." She gritted the words through her teeth, making him cringe and rest an unsteady servo on her shoulder; a pathetic attempt at reassurance.

"You're back where you belong now..." As if he actually knew where she belonged. No one knew, not him, not Wheeljack, not Dreadwing, and certainly not herself.

"Yea, I guess you're right."

"Wow, wow...what? I-...I'm _right_?" She slapped his arm jokingly and forced a grin as he chuckled, the overhead light reflecting off of the newly polished and pristine white of her armor. It had taken nearly a whole solar cycle to restore her damaged finish, the wires melted down and her extremities barely functional. Now it was just a matter of keeping it clean, maybe avoiding any serious damage. Not likely.

"Shut up..." She nudged him, hardly making the other budge as she took a turn down the opposing hallway, her intentions pure as she walked off in the other direction to give Wheeljack the completed coordinates. "...And hey, watch out! I could take those scrap heaps up on their offer!" She yelled it over her shoulder, winking as he waved a dismissive servo in her direction with that usual smile.

"Then you'll be on the losing team!" It echoed off the metal walls and briefly touched her audio receptors. The losing team, he'd said. What if they, the Autobots, _were_ the losing team? But all in all, the Decepticons could easily fall beneath the foot of the last renaming Prime. A 'successful' and 'all powerful', 'kind' and 'generous' leader that all of them had yet to meet. It was a load of scrap, she'd often thought...but apparently the Decepticons were always in the wrong, no matter the situation or argument. So the losing team...would forever be unknown. She'd more than likely rust into shambles before any real progress was made, much less a winner be decided. She remembered before the war...during the golden age that in all truth hadn't been so golden. She would study relentlessly in hopes of making some kind of difference, in hopes of one day leaving some kind of mark on Cybertron that would leave her remembered among the rest of the forgotten shells that The Allspark had taken away. Unfortunately things never usually went as planned.

Overall they had made her think; his words, and had forced over her the feeling of uncertainty. She mumbled her reply below her breath, as realistically as she could.

"I highly doubt it, Seaspray."

* * *

"Wheeljack, they're done."

"The coordinates?"

"Energon stocking hall, like I promised." She showed him the map as the holograph extended from her wrist, the single red dot on the screen blinking to signify the location. She shut it down, watching as the mech nodded stiffly and set a servo on her helm, as if a caretaker of some awkward sort. He acted as though nothing had changed, as if he hadn't left her for dead...scared, alone, in pain, and malfunctioning not too long ago. He acted as though she were the most important and youngest of the group again, as if he still understood her and still accepted her...but maybe he did. That still defended nothing. That still _meant_ nothing. This rage she recognized in the pit of her transistors when he touched her was overwhelming, how stiff she became upon contact, and he oddly hadn't seemed to notice; if he had then he had yet to acknowledge it.

"Welcome back, 'Ops."

"Thanks." He had said it so enthusiastically, so much that it at first hadn't seemed to be the infamous Wheeljack with the gruff and battle-ready voice she'd come to know. She just shrugged as she did every time, her scowl nearly cracking past that perfectly unfazed persona she'd built since her return. The constant _'good to have you back'_s or _'glad you're okay'_s...they were tiring, and sickening in the least. The pity they unintentionally exposed to her seeming useless and a waste of energon just in their words alone, and it looked as though she were weak to them as they spoke to her like a sparkling. _'Are you alright?'_ was, in a sarcastic sense, her favorite. Highride must have asked her that a billion times, maybe more_. 'You should rest.'_ She was sick of that too.

"You sure you wanna take this one?" Another question she was less than pleased to reply for.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Her self-control was fading, the tolerance she had managed to piece together growing dimmer and dimmer with each passing cycle as the ten measly Wreckers left in this pathetic base of operations concerned themselves more than they should have. Bulkhead was the only mech who patted her back then welcomed her home and left it at that. The only gruffly sensible, awkward one of the group...too unfamiliar to say anything more than what was needed and too friendly to say nothing at all. She guessed that was good, a little respectable in his older and more experienced status as a fighter. Best friends with Wheeljack, too close to let one or the other rot in the hand of a 'Con. Apparently she hadn't been as close to Jack as she'd though, because she was certain that Jack would have handed over the program if Bulkhead had been beneath the foot of _Starscream_ rather than Dreadwing.

"You were gone for a while, we labeled you OIA." _Offlined in action_...she nearly laughed at that. His eyes narrowed to just small pinpricks of blue, the disbelief in his tone aggravating to say the least. She had looked up to this mech? She had respected and adored him and joked with him? It was hard to believe much less look back on...and Synopsis felt as though she should scold herself for even considering him a decent companion. Someone to depend on? Obviously not anymore.

"Well I'm fine now, and I'm going with you." He reached out to touch her again...and she took a step back, that tension he had yet to register never fading as his extended servo slowly fisted at her distrust. As if he regretted making her uncomfortable.

"Fine with me." He smirked, that slit in the metal of his lower lip component seeming more defined when he did.

How had he gotten that again?

It didn't matter. She used to smile and trace those cuts with the tips of her fingers, always making her circuits flutter and her pipes ache at the reminder of all his missions. Could he even look at his reflection and brush off the battle scars? Probably not, but that wasn't her problem...she looks at the old memories and sees them as foolish mistakes, a blinded trust she had never once considered or questioned. Little Synopsis, never accepted and always the outcast...for once held dear by a Wrecker who 'understood' her and could relate to her. How foolish had she been and how fragging cliché did it sound? Dreadwing had been right...their decision in leaving her was a decision of ignorance and mistake that she was sure she would never let happen again.

"So the processor manipulation program...it's powered by energon?" She asked it so blatantly as if she already knew, her optics swiveling to the left to improve her focus as she attempted to clear her head of the Decepticon entirely.

"Exactly why we needed the location of one of the last known energon stocking facilities." That haughty smirk never left his faceplate, making the femme groan from wavering aggravation. Always so cocky; it was almost disheartening. "We don't have enough."

"Alright then..." She winked, trying her best to force another grin and not pounce on the mech in a fit of rage, holding down the urge to straddle him and rip out his spark with the sharpened talons of her finger components as she stared at him optic to optic. This return _'home'_ would be beyond entertaining, and she had convinced herself that staying with Dreadwing would have been the better choice.

* * *

**I needed to feed you all something. It's been some time, haha. Anywho...latest episode of TF:P. Awesome...mainly because KO ended up stuck in a wall. I call that a good day of work for the producers. And Starscream's making a deal... a deal that will probably turn into some catastrophic event completely against his health along with the little sanity he has left in his tiny head. c: And on top of if Screamer just walks into the Nemesis like 'Yo Bitches' looking like a stripper in all of his stiletto glory. He's the woman of the Decepticons now that Arachnid is frozen in a giant egg. It's like Megatron's wife is returning and Dreadwing was all defensive because he knew Megs deserved better than **_Starscream_** because he**_ is a hoe_**. -_-**

**Well that rant went completely off the course of **_canon_** and more towards tumblr tf:p blogs. **

**Again: Anyways...Dreadwing needs screentime...because he' sexy and we need him NAWH. Yep...tumblr...it turns you into a screwy fangirl.**

As always...this chapter is short, a little over 2,000 words with the assistance of my AU and the above stuff. I keep making promises of a long chapter...but I'm being a procrastinating, lazy, ass who has writer's block. So please excuse the shizziness of this chapter with all of the dearness in your heart. There WILL 100 PERCENT BE ACTION IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. I just have to write it. -_-

**Well all, goodnight! Hope you enjoyed this short piece, and hope it didn't confuse you. As an explanation of anything in particular regarding Synopsis; She's back with 'Jack, 'Ride, and Seaspray. She returned after...UNTOLD EVENTS. O_O**

**Yea the dramatic thing doesn't work with typing. So, cheerio my loves! Rest well!**

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**Oh! And please review? ^^  
**


	4. Level Two - Dark

**Dreadwing x Cybertronian Oc**

Terminology You Might Not Know;

Scrap/Frag; Both slang terms, moreover a Cybertronian curse word.

Helm; Cybertronian term for the head.

Stabilizing Servo; Term for the foot.

Servo; Term for the hand.

Processor; Term for the brain.

**_~Enjoy_**

**_Ch. 4; Level Two -Dark_**

* * *

**Abandoned Energon Stocking Facility**_  
_

* * *

_-Wheeljack, can you hear me?-_ Nothing but static. Highride was stiff...his wiring pulled, his helm aching, and each step full of unnecessary caution as he clunked past and over pools of what he assumed was spoiled energon. A lime colored rookie followed behind him, her helm-lights the only things providing sight in the abandoned building, soft creaking noises making her wince as patches of rust let off a smell of decay.

"I don't think we're getting signal in here."

"Just our luck, ay 'Ops?" He grinned and the second femme ignored him, their surroundings unstable and her processor focusing on other things. She wasn't in the mood, and this glitched rookie slowing them down wasn't helping in the least. She was sluggish, rather ignorant, too brightly colored, and densely timid. Not Wrecker material, and the only reason she was even included was more than likely relations...or perhaps something more perverse. This was no doubt Highride's new play-thing to entertain him and a couple other Wreckers, and _Primus_ was she annoying!

"Yea..." Synopsis mumbled the late response under her breath as she continued to observe the inner workings of this former factory. The walls were old, burnt in some areas and falling apart from the countless years of neglect and abandonment. The smell was nauseating; Synopsis felt her inner piping turn uneasily at the stench of rotted metal as it stifled the air like a thick fog. The metal plates of the floor were shifting beneath their stabilizing servos as they walked, and she visibly winced when one snapped beneath her tire and nearly took her leg down into the lower floor with it.

"How big is this place anyway?" That sparkling pipped up as the echo of the fallen panel slammed against countless objects before disappearing entirely, the three halting their journey for a quick moment.

"Energon stocking halls are usually huge. I'm surprised this one isn't bigger." He mumbled the last part, looking to Synopsis as she transformed her hand and quietly inspected the tip of her blaster. Big blue optics blinked at him for a moment, as if questioning his yellow stare with an expression of defensive irritation. She scoffed before looking to her other wrist and bringing up a hologram.

"Map indicates that there's another forty two floors."

"...Great, and Wheeljack's _lost_ in this mess." He let a red servo slide over his helm, the hall quiet with the small exception of dripping liquid from a supposed leak further down the corridor. No lights, he reminded himself. This place was creepy just with the absence of electricity. Darkness was never something he appreciated, not after the start of the war anyway. It always managed to remind him of that one recon job, where the lights went out and he ended up the only survivor of the bunch, stumbling over offlined bodies just to make it out of that base. Nothing too comforting.

"Wheeljack's never lost." The two-wheeler groaned at the fact that the mech was avoiding them, probably to scour ahead as the hero always did. The younger rookie bumped into the her side, nearly stumbling back as her helm-lights waved in every direction; following her frantic movements.

"I don't understand why you're still sticking up for him, 'Ops." Highride smirked and started moving again, his steps careful like before and his senses heightened.

"Why? Because he left me to die in the hands of a 'Con?" He paused, turning and watching his rookie squirm uncomfortably beside her from out of the corner of his optic. That wasn't what he'd meant.

"'Ops, that's not really how you see it..._right?_" He ended it in a mellow laugh, the kind that exposed the insecurities, confusion, and unsure nature of the question entirely. A sudden tension formed, and he let down his guard for a brief moment out of awkward curiosity.

"I'm not _'sticking up'_ for him 'Ride, I'm just telling the truth. I hate him, actually. Just like I hate _Seaspray_...and _Bulkhead_, and _Ramhouse_, and _you_." She grinned this time, the white and purple of her armor literally glowing with her optics under the small light source as she wrapped a stiff arm around the neck of the lime green femme. Striker held her breath as she received some kind of odd hug from her superior, the feeling foreign and uncomfortable while the hold on her neck tightened and the rage in Synopsis' voice grew, her blaster waving around almost carelessly as she talked to Highride. Then that glowing light of a ready weapon touched the temple of her helm, the sudden jolt of fear and panic slamming into the back of the rookie's processor as she attempted to pull away, struggling and completely unsure of what to do.

"Oh, and your little interface whore here...I hate her too." A single shot managed a strong and vivid echo against each metal wall, the static and sparks forcing a swift flash of vibrant light to nearly blind the mech as he yelped and attempted to cover his face. The light was out, fading as Striker offlined and slowly turned dark, melting into the surroundings and making Highride hold his breath. What the hell was this? What did she think she was doing?

"Too bad, 'Ride. Waste of a decent rookie." The dark had nearly made him panic until he heard a second blast, the light catching his eager attention and for a moment making everything seem better with the relief it bestowed upon him. The mech felt a throbbing burn over his features, but nothing serious as his surroundings turned the same luminescent shade of blue, it's hue a glowing pulse that rendered him unconscious and sent him harshly tumbling down into and through the weak floor. And he felt okay, despite never waking up.

* * *

"Wheeljack, thank Primus!" She ran forward, the blue of his optics leading her as Synopsis smiled and slowed to a stop. The smell was worse further down than it was on the ground level, and she nearly gagged at the rot.

"Where're 'Ride and Striker?" He looked over her shoulder, nearly shuddering at the empty hall of rust and oil spills that led into some empty space of pitch black nothing. Level 23 and no energon...nothing to power up the program clutched securely in his servo and nothing to help them in their attempt to restore peace over Cybertron. So un-Wrecker like of him...but it had to be done, right?

"I ended up separated from the group a while ago, so I went looking for you instead." She shrugged, the thin and barely visible lights on her abdomen catching his attention in the dark as she placed her hands on her hips and lent to one side.

"Then lets start looking, lead the way." He extended an open servo as if offering, her annoyance growing as she forced a smirk over her lip components and continued on in front.

This would be an interesting search party.

* * *

"It's been a while." She said it quietly, as if intentionally sounding eerie as the dripping noises surrounding them added to the abandoned and worn down atmosphere. His steps were heavy compared to hers, the tires on her feet probably cushioning her weight. Somehow she gladly ended up behind him, his chassis barely recognizable through the dark, even from only a few feet away.

"Since what?"

"Since a recovery mission like this...with just us." She laughed at the irony, how it was always 'just them' and now...it really was. And he didn't even know it.

"Has been, hasn't it?" He grinned and kept going forward, the corridor becoming more and more narrow and that much darker the further they went, its intimidating appearance doing nothing but pushing the mech further as he pressured himself with personal expectations.

"Yea, probably before you left me with Dreadwing." There was...an almost sinister tone in her vocal processor, something of frustration and hate that at first he hadn't recognized. Now it was more defined, much more...obvious. And how she even brought that up. That was weeks ago, and the femme hadn't even mentioned that mission until now.

"What?" He wouldn't look back at her...the expression of his failure and the despair on her faceplate would probably kill him for what he'd done.

"You know...to die?_ Remember now?_" She chuckled again, as if this were a joke that he just couldn't understand. He finally stopped at a foreign sound; metal against metal that was too far off to be Synopsis, and it wasn't heavy enough to be Highride. Multiple sounds, swift, loud, and practiced sounds that indicated two or three, maybe more.

'Jack sneered and turned around, a stiff feeling aching in his piping as the sudden echo of a charging blaster caught his attention. That eerie blue glow matched her optics perfectly, the light illuminating vividly off her armor and the darkness around such a small frame being filled with noting but disbelief as matching 'Cons stepped out of the shadows and stood beside her, their weapons high and mighty as 'Ops smiled and gave her signature wink. She looked so stunning, so fearless and cold with a grin that would leave a sparkling with nightmares and send a scraplet whining. She looked like hateful success.

"Synopsis..." He growled her name so heatedly in disbelief, almost as if he was disappointed. She didn't care, not a bit. At one point in the past perhaps she would have...but now...no, not now. Not in the least.

"What comes around, _goes_ around Wheeljack." She shot him, his pain receptors flashing on and off as he grunted and stumbled back. He caught his balance, setting his stabilizing servos firmly to the ground and swiftly flinging an explosive in her direction. She moved, watching her backup blow into scrap on contact from the corner of her optic. So that's why Dreadwing recommended them? Of course she knew Wheeljack better than anyone else in possible existence, so physical assistance wasn't needed...but as distractions? Ingenious.

"Oh I forgot to mention...Highride's offline. Has been for a while now." He shot at her, his mouthplates quickly covering the lower portion of his face as he sped forward and fired with a brief hesitation she'd never quite seen from him. Synopsis coward back for a split second, her motors revving as the wheels on her feet turned to quicken her pace. She jumped beside him, an swift elbow jamming into the side of his helm and sending him tumbling to the side before he shifted his balance; steadying himself from rolling further across the rusted over floors. Several metal plates broke under his weight, forcing the mech to jump nearly into her direct line of fire. He was hit again, the burns standing out over the white of his chestplate. She was a sniper...she never missed.

"This your idea of a good time?" He aimed his own arm blaster again, that grunt in his tone making her step back as always.

"No, my idea of a good time is ripping the glowing spark from your chassis." A blast hit his left arm, a few shrapnel of metal flying off his plates as he was thrown back by another to the chest. Synopsis transformed, the two-wheeled vehicle mode speeding around the scattered debris left over from the disintegrated 'Cons and using an excess panel to catch air, transforming again and snatching the program chip out of mid fall, its once secure place within Wheeljack's servo now gone as he hit the creaky old ground with a loud thud. A heavy breath left his lip components, and 'Jack attempted to roll on his side before a sharp tire-adorned stabilizing servo stepped down on his shoulder.

"I think this ended fairly. What about you, 'Jackie?" She smiled unusually as she had earlier...and he felt like a fool for not noticing that slightly sadistic quirk it held.

"You know 'Ops, that was the only problem with you..."

"I don't think you're in the position to _criticize_." The weight of her foot lifted as she straightened her posture and aimed her blaster at him for the final time, a rather annoyed expression mixed over her features. Should she be content with this outcome? Of course. But he was making it so hard to celebrate with that usually crass mouth of his.

"...you never paid attention to your surroundings."

"What?" He elbowed the floor panel she stood on as hard as he could, listening as it snapped under the pressure and rolling onto the sturdy one beside him; he watched as she fell through with that look of shock and rage, another betrayal as she went down with the processor manipulation program firmly between her fingers. He cussed as he stood, dusting off a burn and setting a servo against the wall for stability.

Why? It was the only question he could mutter, so simple yet always difficult to answer. It was his fault, wasn't it? Synopsis was joking. This was all one big screw-over right? He huffed, so angrily and so pathetically before attempting to find his way back to the first floor; Seaspray was waiting for him in the Jackhammer. He would answer his own questions there.

* * *

Her pain receptors were shut down, and now it was only a struggle. She finally caught herself after the sixth ceiling she fell through, the multiple scratches and dents in her backplate being unbelievable. One arm held a metal beam that allowed her to dangle raggedly only feet above the floor, the tires on her heels turning from the pressure and slams of the fall. Her sides ached already, and she gently let go of the beam and landed cautiously with wide optics, struggling slightly to keep her balance as her stabilizing servos met the rugged rotting floor.

Synopsis groaned and rubbed at the exposed wires in her neck, shaking her helm before walking down the corridor in search of a staircase. She grinned wide despite her defeat, looking to the little rectangular digit she'd stolen as it lay in her palm useless. Her breath hitched, a growl erupting from the back of her throat and a curse being mumbled beneath her breath. It wasn't a rectangle...it was only a broken square, incapable of providing anything.

"Scrap." Dreadwing would be less than pleased, she knew that as a fact. What would this cost her? It was a bugging question as she continued moving forward, her map glitching in her wrist from the bumps and slams it endured during her fall. Not a surprise. She sighed before shutting down the communication blockers on her waist, tapping the side of her head in hopes of the device successfully coming back online.

_-Dreadwing, can you hear me?-_

_-Did you retrieve the program?-_ Straight to the point, 'Ops noted.

_-Not...well, partially.-_ She sheepishly grinned and shrugged despite the obvious; acting on her words. Partially had never even a good answer...not even for_ Wheeljack._

* * *

"He broke it." A thin arm stretched forward and presented half of the unit, the wires sticking out of the end and a dent curved into the side. The look she expressed was sharp, the thought and emotion all bottled up in her processor. Good. He didn't need excess distractions, he didn't need a self-pitying femme who couldn't hold her own. Red optics narrowed as he turned his back, intent on reprimanding her failure later in the day. It was a simple task he'd demanded as a condition for her recruitment, something she should have been capable of using to her full advantage. The entire ordeal had been set in her favor, presenting the opportunity of revenge as well as his trust, and the program. But apparently she wasn't as skilled as he first perceived, and now he would have to reassess her abilities upon this...error.

"Were you able to attach the device?" His servos fisted at his sides, the sight intimidating as he crushed what was left of the program; making her feel that much smaller in comparison. What had he expected? A complete and utter disaster of her efforts? It was almost insulting of him to phrase it so...bluntly, to practically assume that she had also failed to attach the universal interface driver into the back of that Wrecker's helm? Just in case he survived? Such an easy task.

"Of course, and I managed something even better..." She smiled proudly and pulled a rounded plate from her hip, unhitching the complex and energon coated organ and offering it forward as she'd done before. He looked at her...oddly...as if he were expecting an explanation, more so demanding one with a small smirk of distaste as its fading glow of liquid dripped between her finger components.

"Highride's processor, I ripped it out of his helm before I left. He knows everything _Wheeljack_ knows." Now he understood, what a sinister little bitch she was...holding the remains of a former comrade and tossing it lightly in her palm as if it were a toy of interest. A little twisted, he had to admit...even for the likes of a Decepticon, but it was useful. Something he would have to accept if someone so sharp-witted was planning on following beside him...planning to be successful in the name of Megatron alone. And although her merciless attributes would prove excellent, this concerned him to a wavering extent. She was so willing to gain a sense of security by physically reprimanding the people, her only companions, who'd crossed her; what of her loyalty? Did she have any? What was her cause?

Dreadwing looked back to the bleeding unit set idly in her tiny servo, his smallest finger component nearly the same width as her visually fragile wrist. He took it as if appreciative and inspected the cords, each wire removed correctly and the circuits still in tact. She was a sniper, a scout, and knew how to remove a processor from a helm without much complication (more than likely from the multiple processor surgeries she'd claimed to endure)...but she was insane. A minor fault that was obviously perpetual despite its unsteady affects. One minute she was normal, the next she had a spark squeezed tight in her fingers and was giddily smiling in hopes of praise. Had the act not been so gruesome it would have seemed oddly endearing, or would have maybe been taken as a performance of devotion.

"This alone will be..._useful_." He commented, as if speaking to a sparkling. And she reacted as such with brightening optics and the faintest hint of a smile, her posture straightening and her eagerness seeming to increase. She obviously wanted his approval, and even she hadn't known why. The first job Wheeljack had sent her on she came back with the prize and a hopeful expression, one that exposed exactly how anxious she was to know an important opinion on her accomplishment. Maybe it was Synopsis' lack of better judgement, or the fact that she'd always been a recluse by others grouping; the odd one that no one wanted to go near because she was completely and obviously glitched. But either way she wanted someone to tell her how well she'd done, or how perfect everything was executed. Dreadwing noticed, and it made her happy to finally meet someone's expectations.

* * *

**Done with Chapter 4! Hope it was long enough this time, and I do hope that it was at least _a little bit_ of a surprise that Synopsis never really did revert back to being a wrecker. (So in short terms her story to Seaspray about escaping was a load of *coughcoughcough*...)**

**Big thanks to StolenWings for all the love and inspiration to update! Everyone say thank you because honestly...I'm pretty sure without her my 'procrastination' **_(aka laziness)_** would have gotten the best of me, lol. c:**

**Anyway, onto REVIEWS!  
**

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**_Grievousorvenom:_ **I'm so glad you like it so far! ^^ I was hoping to make a decent Dreadwing fic for you guys since there aren't many out there. c:**  
**

**_kukuioPunk:_ **Every time I read your reviews I feel like I was just hugged, lol. Hope that wasn't awkward...xP Anyway, glad you love it, and I promise to continue. c:**  
**

**_StolenWings_: **Yes Starscream is our TF:P hoe. XD I just can't believe Megs let him back...oh wait, yes I can...because it's happened around 2,000 times in total since the beginning of G1. lol. At least the producers added the whole _'better with me then against me'_ thing...made it a little more understandable but still infuriating. I mean, I like Starscream...but come on. cx AND DREADWING. WHY?! The sadness. :c (This was pretty much my entire episode rant, lol. That and me being relieved that KO is no longer stuck in a wall. c:)**  
**


	5. Level Three - Odd

**Dreadwing x Cybertronian Oc**

Terminology You Might Not Know;

Scrap/Frag; Both slang terms, moreover a Cybertronian curse word.

Helm; Cybertronian term for the head.

Stabilizing Servo; Term for the foot.

Servo; Term for the hand.

Processor; Term for the brain.

**_~Enjoy_**

**_Ch. 5; Level Three -Odd_**

* * *

**_Unnamed Autobot Base_**_  
_

* * *

She was oddly unhappy, even with her rifle balanced on her shoulder and aimed curtly towards the head of some unsuspecting Autobot...she felt unsettled, moreover angry despite what fun this would so often enhance. Even as she envisioned this wandering mech to be Wheeljack she swore there was this lack of focus, perhaps this throbbing anger burning in the base of her piping at the simple knowledge that it WASN'T Wheeljack. It made her cringe, forcing 'Ops to realign her aim through the usually unneeded scope on the rifle's side. It never took her this long...this was almost embarrassing.

Her arm jolted as the shot fired with an intense shade of yellow, it's blast burrowing deep and fully through the bot's helm and out the other side; metal pieces of shrapnel swiftly jutting out of his processor and shattering every bit of plating above his neck. She shifted to the left and aimed again.

**_Fire_**. Shift. **_Fire_**. Shift. **_Fire_**. Shift...

Nothing left. Even as she glanced out of her scope she found nothing but littered bodies adorning the floor, the energon seeping from their helms as if water and quickly consuming the plain gray of the ground in its glowing blue aura. She'd taken out all of them? Already? What a weakened defense...only four surrounding the area as if patrolling, and she wondered to herself just how many were actually inside.

"That's it?" She grumbled under her breath, a mixture of disappointment and disbelief creating one single complaint that Dreadwing found was impossible to ignore. He turned to her; gun being placed onto the clip of her back panels as she scowled over the edge of the old rusted building, their higher ground giving her a better advantage in aim. She breathed, unsatisfied. Perhaps infiltrating the base would make her happier, lift her spirits a bit more than usual? It sounded nice.

"What bothers you?" He asked as if he cared, a single metal brow raising inquisitively as he eyed her from his place a few yards over. He was fiddling with that stupid detonator if his, finding it crucial that it worked perfectly at all times.

"It's unusual of you to ask." She smirked and adjusted her arm pistols, the weight heavier than usual. Exhaustion? Lack of energon, probably.

"I am simply _questioning_ your focus and capability in completing this _mission_."

"We'll then I'm perfectly fine." She grinned again as her tires rotated, a sign that indicated either anxiety or downcast emotions. A giveaway to her weaknesses thy he'd found after time. The seeker studied her as she sighed, the expression thick and heavy as 'Ops shuttered her optics and began striding forward with her hands firmly set at her sides. She turned for a moment, motioning for his third in command to assist in her endeavor with the simple motion of a curling finger component. Roadheist obeyed, slightly wary of her overall intentions. That two-wheeler was insane and merciless...that much of the rumors had stuck in his processor, and he felt nervous around the femme without the backup or his commanding officer or even a couple others below him. He wouldn't show it, no. No he, as a mech, had to look better than some fearful sparkling terrified of the opposed gender. He had to set an example, make himself look strong and obedient.

"Be right back." She gave that signature wink and jumped off the edge like a fool, the mech beside her hesitating only a moment before jumping with her, his wings catching wind as he did so. But for once in a very long time...Dreadwing questioned her stability to complete the mission.

* * *

"Get off!" She grunted as a random mech pinned her to the floor, his entire mass weighing down on her much smaller frame and nearly crushing her white plates. She felt a small section of her chassis cave in, a dent painfully forming beneath the point of his elbow as he pulled his servo back to punch her. She acted quickly as if desperate, pulling her arm out and latching the last bomb onto his side before slamming the side of her head against the floor and listening to her communicator fizzle to life with static and buzzing.

"Dreadwing activate the extra!" She closed her optics as a fist came down heavy on her neck, her teeth clenched tightly as the sound of beeping beckoned her attention. An explosion erupted from the purple mech's back with a cry of pain escalating into something like sheer agony as he blew to pieces, energon staining her faceplates as his expression died into a faded form of gray, and those blue optics offlined as the melted remains of his body weighed against her. The smell of decay, smoke and used fluids immediately met her receptors, making her cringe and heave the much larger 'Bot to the side in a hurried hull of relief. She exhaled, finally, that bugging feeling in her abdomen forcing her to wiggle from discomfort. Synopsis looked down and met a bleeding frame, the black of her stomach armor having been punctured by a thin slice of shrapnel that'd once been a piece of Autobot armor.

"Scrap."

_-Are you injured?-_

"Only a scratch." She hissed, covering the communicator and checking her pain receptors. They'd turned off, and she hadn't even noticed. "Nothing I can't ignore."

_-Hurry up, I'm making my way back with a third load.-_ Roadheist interrupted, his gruff voice strained as he pulled a heavy burden of energon behind him, their attempt at retrieval so far successful.

"I'm heading back now." She mumbled it, a rather ignorant scene as she huffed and shut down her communicator, its functions barely sixty percent. That dwelling ache in her middle made her stumble for a moment as her servo covered the puncture, trickles of blue staining her finger components and dripping down into the open crevices of her leg plates. She was lucky it hadn't been pain, and that the stupid Autobot hadn't given her such a beating to damage her pain receptors into glitching or malfunctioning on and off. Synopsis was lucky that she was ALIVE much less functional. Easy targets, because it was one thing to simple shoot them...another to punch a hole into their chests. Her stabilizing servos stopped at the exit, a pitiful moan erecting from down one darker corridor and the unmistakable sound of sizzling sparks from the other. Such a waste. She wouldn't be able to offline whoever was left in their most pleading positions of need and agony. She would have been more than glad to, but time was running out...and she was unsure if Dreadwing would still hit the trigger despite her obvious absence. So she ignored them with a dull sigh as a prick of pain sparked her receptors to life, her cringe so pathetic and tense that even Roadheist would have laughed despite his fear of her.

_"It's not funny."_ She said it oddly to no one as she walked out, the dim brightness of the sky illuminating her surroundings, the cloud covering everything overhead yet still offering a better source of light than the dingy ceiling lamps on the inside. 'Ops pushed herself again and again, feet stained blue and scratched as they tapped eagerly against scrap metal littering the ground...her tires scuffing the planet's surface until she was at the base if their rendezvous point. It was a molted, malfunctioned building that had fallen partially into the craters of metal somehow dented below it. A tilted building that once scraped its highest level against the sky, adorned with an unattractive scent of rust that'd nearly made her purge her digestive tanks as it hung around the collapsed metal and beams; the entire structure seeming wilted and broken. It looked unsafe, a perfect area to set a sniper...he'd said.

"Took you long enough." Roadheist managed to pull that out with courage, his piping rattling on the inside as she literally growled at his direction.

"They're all in place. Nine of the ten on each support." She said while still holding her wound, the pain becoming more and more evident with time. What was she supposed to do? Tough it out, apparently.

"Good." Dreadwing's finger component squirmed with a anxious vibe, the relief he felt as he pressed down on the button unexplainable. A sensation of both excitement and pride incapable of defeating any other feeling erupted in his circuits, and she watched as he smiled at his work; seeming either oblivious or not concerned over the final and tenth bomb she'd used on her opponent. Synopsis watched as the building went down with precision, collapsing into itself as if some complex creation of utter turmoil. Fire and smoke poisoned the already polluted air, its distinct breath of conflagration swarming the skies as the beams of metal and heat collapsed on the remaining Autobots somewhere inside. A true work of art that'd taken her thoughts away from her consistent anger, but only for a brief and rather enjoyable moment.

"Lovely as always, Dreadwing." She smiled, coughed a little, and then attempted to ignore that sidewards gaze of concern...a concern that was more of a 'mission and status worry' than a 'caring and partner worry'. Yet she didn't mind...but it just added to how unsettled she'd felt. It just added to this sinking feeling that dug itself into the bottom of her wires.

"Enjoy it while it _lasts_."

"..." She hesitated a moment, that pain increasing as her receptors became more keen on its distinct pressure, a vague sense of disappointment snuffing in her circuits. "Yea..."

She passed out.

How embarrassing.

Her processor shut down, her optics shuttered closed and her limbs went stiff. Energon leaked from beneath her face-down frame, and Roadheist took a step back with the few other troops that'd accompanied them. Dreadwing glanced down, considering on leaving her there, but all of his efforts up to the present time would have been wasted. The training, the operations, the amount of thought that he'd put into his plan would have felt wire-gutting alone. He grimaced, almost snarled before stepping closer...the waves of smoke finally filtering the musky air from their distance. His servo, so much larger than her own, circled around her arm and lifted with enough strength to hoist her over his shoulder...that blue streaking his armor and the metallic smell causing his to inwardly stir. Her white plating was scratched up, her abdomen leaking, her faceplate adorned with numerous scrapes and unattractive marks that, had they still lived in the golden age, would have been completely unacceptable for a femme of her younger status. He thought about that...too often for his liking, and too often for it to seem normal; what had she done back then? What city had she been created in? Had she attended the academy? Nothing important or noteworthy...which was unusual for the likes of Dreadwing; Decepticon Captain and Commander of a _(slowly diminishing)_ seeker armada.

She was simply an asset. One that was more useful than he'd originally figured.

* * *

"Don't move glitch."

"Ow!"

"I said don't move!" Such a pesky thing this femme was, so eager yet too disorganized. She'd woken from stasis only moments ago...groaning and complaining about the lighting. Warp, a seasoned medic, simply continued her work...pulling the closest buffer from the table and sliding the device over the recently dried exterior. It shined...nearly perfect with the exception of scars that were incapable of being buffed out. Her tires were changed, her blasters tinkered with and filtered enough to shoot a little smoother. She'd been built for speed...with a thin and angular form, tiny and normally unnecessary points in her helm, wrist, and waist indicating such. The simple fact that her tires were most of her stabilizing servos added on to the more or less obvious assumption.

Synopsis twitched at the servo on her abdomen, the thin tips of each finger component making her cringe slightly. How uncomfortable.

"You're done. I'll turn your lower circuits back on." The femme mumbled, almost bitter despite her conventional profession as the medic. 'Ops could only fling her legs over the edge of the examination berth with an anxious fidget that proclaimed her discomfort. She rubbed her wrist cuffs, noticing how dry the metal of her throat was.

"Thanks."

"You had a severe puncture to the lower aerial plate, a _nearly_-blown tire...you were fragging close, several tangled wires in your lower left extremity and a fractured pipe in your midsection."

"Alright. What about-" The two-wheeler was quickly interrupted.

"-The _only_ problem that I'm _incapable_ of fixing is the fried circuit in the frontal lobe of your processor. The problem seems old, _you_ seem insane, and I'm positive you're aware of the break itself and its effects?" The seeker examined the yellow of her servo, rather uninterested in the conversation much less caring.

"Yea. It's fine."

"Good. On your way then. Kormia-eight is in dire need of a new T-cog...I just 'got one in' earlier." She smiled stiffly and dismissively waved Synopsis off, the femme's wings perking up with her delight as she opened the door, expectant. What a surprise.

* * *

"I fail to understand why you refused my offer." She listened intently, spying as Dreadwing spoke with his brother through a little and barely-functioning screen, the conversation escalating at a rapid pace as the twins shared their personal reasoning...one attempting to change the other's mind in hopes of meeting to serve their 'one and only master'. She rolled her optics at their blind following, such intelligent beings with strength beyond what they know...and they choose to become the tools of a gladiator whom they rarely see. It was near ludicrous, rather indolent of both Skyquake and Dreadwing who'd apparently never once questioned their faith. Yet, she had no one. Perhaps in one perspective fighting for your own cause is acceptable...but having someone to fight for was indeed around ten times more worthy and respectable, a bit better as far as understanding or compared to foolishness and the lack of direction. Skyquake spoke of their loyalty again, his tone suggestive in recruiting his brother to join him, it was almost eager. She decided it was, not necessarily wise...but adequate to intervene.

"His place is here." Synopsis spoke up, rounding the doorway and presenting herself from her hiding spot as little taps echoed in each of the femme's steps. Skyquake looked worn...somewhat tired as his optics narrowed pensively in response to her intrusion, that scar on his faceplate emphasizing the entire warrior display. She could tell he was studying her, judging her from her frame and build alone as his twin gave her a crass stare as if to tell her of her idiocy. She simply shrugged it off, rather used to his glowering expression of disappointment or mostly irritation by this point.

"Is a meager femme your reason?" The mech hadn't raised his voice...but simply sharpened the tone to make it that much more intimidating, causing 'Ops to inwardly wince at his scrunched faceplate of disgust. And meager? She was anything but meager! She was beyond a useful asset to his cause.

"Synopsis is not my _reason_ for declining your offer, _Skyquake_. But is one of the many that assist in my overall decision." For once she felt important as he gestured to her much smaller frame, the blue of her optics glowing in the darker room, the only light illuminating from the monitor. Dreadwing liked it dark. For a reason she could never figure.

"An _Autobot_ femme much less." Skyquake literally hissed this time, looking at her with a ferocity only present within hatred or misunderstanding. In this case both.

"Optic color means little this far in the war, wouldn't you think?" Dreadwing scowled and set a hand on her front, forcing her back as she beckoned the argument further with her lack of verbal control. She crossed her arms and slouched into her mood, the sudden urge to yell in protest being nearly too strong to hold in.

"Dreadwing, it would be wise to _explain yourself_." Again, so hostile in tone. He demanded an answer despite the suggestion it truly was. He only wanted to be proven correct in his rather drastic assumption, backed by neither fact or knowledge.

"Synopsis is my more _recent_ recruit, having _formerly_ been of our opposing faction and proving herself worthy of our own."

"_Why_?" It was drawn out, crass and unwelcoming. Nothing too surprising, but she could stand her own ground against him. Twin or not. So as Dreadwing took a step closer to the monitor and opened his mouth to speak, she intervened; her tiny voice seeming so silent compared to his own.

"_I_ want revenge. My team left me to be offlined in his servo, and it made me realize that what the Autobots fight for isn't equality or hope. Dreadwing saw an opportunity and made an offer that was just too reasonable for me to refuse."

"And what _loyalty_ comes from her experience?" He looked to Dreadwing while snapping bitterly, rather distrusting and so defensive of literally nothing...of just a decision.

"She is-"

"-I would do anything for him. Even though I've never been one to bow low for Megatron, Dreadwing was given the chance to offline me or rather allow me to function. That's enough to keep me beside him."

And it was silent. A red gaze boring holes in her armor as they narrowed even further than before, his fists obviously tightening at his sides despite her lack of visual observation. Skyquake heaved a breath, heavy and unsettled as he looked away from the screen for only a moment, disgust all too evident over his faceplates. This was stupid. The mere though of a former Autobot being such a high rank on his brother's team seeming ludicrous and unacceptable. But what was he supposed to do? Yell until he scared her away through the screen? Her sense of honor and loyalty was nonexistent, he could see it in that vague glow of her optics that she'd never obeyed anyone in her entire life. Such insolence and violent behavior was obvious just in her tense stance alone, with the cuts and scratches in her armor expressing how reckless and careless she was. Nothing his brother deserved much less could attract; if he needed a release there were plenty of Decepticon femmes...even mechs to take such an advantage of.

"Dread-"

"-_I do not seek for your approval_, _brother_." He interrupted, and that made Synopsis' wiring stiffen with a cautious tingle. It was amazing how even just through the screen of a monitor, Skyquake was capable of striking fear through the sheer expression of his voice; that deep tinge that left a strange echo behind it. Almost as if he were too large to be heard properly.

"You fail to grasp my meaning...but _fine_, keep your interface whore." 'Ops winced as the screen shut down, the room going dark and her optics seeming much more defined, yet less of an intense red glow as Dreadwing's in their narrowed and aggravated state.

"Well...that went well." She smiled and he could only wonder what circuit in her processor was completely glitched.

"Were you not _injured_?" He asked it hastily, annoyed and rather bitter over the ordeal. He found himself wrong at the simple sight of her; clean armor, unscuffed heels and joints, a clean finish that'd nearly transformed her. How ironic. And what she had said...her loyalty was still under question. He was still...unsure.

"Yea," She said. "but now I feel better." And that cocky attitude replenished itself, the anger and discomfort now diminished into just meager annoyances that he could ignore. That uncontrolled craving for revenge being subsided at the thought of so much more. It was exotic, to say the least. Refreshing.

A true optic opener.

* * *

_**And I'm tired. G'night guys! Hope you all enjoyed. ^^ Oh and Stolen-Wings; love you!  
**_

_**I can't rant on an episode tonight. No new one yet. :/ Oh well. See you next week, hopefully. Please review! I love your feedback! So please take a moment and review for me! It ups my ego a little bit. c:** _


	6. Level Four - Patience

**Dreadwing x Cybertronian Oc**

**_~Enjoy_**

**_Ch. 6: Level Four -Patience_**

* * *

**_Unnamed Decepticon Air Base_**

* * *

"Your brother seems fond of me." She smirked while glancing through her scope, target in sight as she adjusted her grip on each side. She shrugged, rotating back and narrowing her optics with a rather satisfied expression when her shot took out the wing of a nearing Autobot seeker in the distance. "Pft, look at it struggle." She laughed.

"This is not the time to discuss unimportant relations." Dreadwing growled at her with that unbecoming scowl, making the two-wheeler sigh and bite down on the tip of her glossa in response.

"It's not like we're under attack." She mumbled and crossed her legs, scraping a sharpened finger component against the wall and leaning back into her seat.

There was this air of...distance in their silence. This conflicting feeling of closeness she experienced as if she'd formed a bond with the mech beside her, but this realization of the fact that she knew nothing. He kept her in the dark, something that really hadn't bothered her until now. Synopsis shifted oddly, anxiety showing clearly to her commander as the wheels on her stabilizing servos rotated subconsciously. Little quirks and shifts told him her thoughts, and Dreadwing knew by her movements that she was thinking too deeply.

"You and Skyquake...do you have a bond?" She asked and he grimaced, a snarl of something hesitant present on his features. He was always brooding, and if he wasn't brooding then he was commanding with an iron fist...literally.

"It does not concern you."

"...Of course not." She grumbled and slouched in her seat, wires loosening and posture hunching in spite. His helm snapped in her direction, and he spoke up only to confront her of such vague disrespect.

"Care to repeat yourself?" So harsh as he narrowed his optics and stepped forward, watching her glare at him before standing and countering his actions.

"No, because you heard me." And he finally snapped, a servo coiling itself around her neck in one swift movement, his claws pinching her plating and lifting her much smaller frame up until she nearly met his height. A snarl was apparent over his lip components and a twitch barely visible from his rage. Synopsis winced, fear wrenching at her transistors as her CPU moved quickly to process what was going on. She held her breath before swallowing and wrapping her tiny servos around his wrist.

"I have grown weary of your disrespect." His grip tightened, and she shook.

"Maybe if you informed me of the things I would like to know then I would shut my mouth."

"You know enough."

"I don't know anything!" She yelled and he loosened his hold, her stabilizing servos dangling feet above the floor as he stared directly into her optics; big, blue, quirky optics.

"You never tell me anything..." Of course she was right...Dreadwing rarely informed her of anything. She had no reason to share his concerns.

"I tell you what you need to know." He hissed it, and she winced. What would she say? 'Ops pondered over this swiftly in her mind as she continued to struggle in his servo, the extremity warm and their short distance uncomfortable. She glanced to the side, dentals grinding together and her tires spinning at full speed in her heels.

"...That's not fair. You don't even trust me."

"I have no reason to." He murmured crassly before as if to prove a point, releasing her and watching his second in in command stumble back on her heels as he turned and directed his attention to other needs.

"That hurts." She pouted.

"So does a broken wing." She paused, irritation picking at her circuits while he walked away. She owed everything to him...her life, her status, her skills; yet he still chose to keep her in the dark.

But perhaps...that's where she belonged.

"I have tracking to do." 'Ops huffed to herself, crossing her arms and turning away from the door he'd exited through. Why did she require Dreadwing's praise and acceptance anyway? He wasn't that important to her. Not at all.

* * *

"I've located the tracking beacon placed on Wheeljack. There are several molecular waves emanating from the ship, meaning he still has the other half of the processor manipulation device." Synopsis glanced at it warily...the Jackhammer, a ship that had previously been her original place of refinement and where she had once rested as well as chatted among many of her fellow Wreckers. It was on the screen, the coordinates changing and flashing at the bottom corner as it traveled and her optics narrowing into pinpricks of blue as she looked over it again and again.

Time had obviously passed since her last encounter with Wheeljack, her posture more firm and strict and her hands constantly open at her sides rather than unnecessarily fisted or resting on her hips. Here she felt at ease...among such unlikely influences and such crude and merciless troops, she felt welcome and accepted...feared. She liked it that way. She enjoyed being feared; the pride it somehow emitted when people (especially Roadheist) would go out of their way to either avoid or please her due to the paranoia of what she could or might do. The feeling was almost intoxicating, and it was far more reassuring than a pat on the back or a meager amount of praise. Than a 'good going' or a 'nice one'.

Dreadwing turned to look at her, his stare still intimidating and pointed as it usually was. She had learned, after many viewings of her current commander, that Skyquake was slightly larger in size...his colors being bland and his tone crass with, ironically, dread. So unlike his brother in many ways, yet so similar in their dense and unwavering loyalty to Megatron. Loyalty...something she'd been told she didn't have time and time again, the reason Dreadwing never informed her of anything. Something that Dreadwing knew she didn't have.

He keenly ignored that flaw, watching her take out Autobot by Autobot in a slow growing pace that often made him wish she would hurry and complete her objective. Yet away from her rifle she was fidgety, anxious and odd...her tires always rotated and she always had a question. She was thankfully standing still now, tensed, her chin down and her gaze forward, sharp. He'd seen her in this pose before, usually before larger battles, intent on what was out there, what was about to confront her viciously.

She stared at the fuzzy screen before her almost absently, body slightly outstretched as she strained forward to inspect and to look at the vehicle. He could see her finger components twitching periodically and her optics swiveling left to right, wide and still too blue for his liking. But she refused to change them, and for some odd reason they hadn't developed into a darker color with her feelings of anger and betrayal. They stayed blue...and it bothered him as unlikely as even the assumption alone was.

"I'll offline him if it's the last thing I do." She mumbled it, sure of her intentions as she shot the screen a stiff glare. He enjoyed it when she summarized like this...providing something so brief of her plans; a synopsis, if you will. Her original purpose of creation.

"A prominent goal." He responded knowingly, choosing to ignore the lack of ferocity in her voice as he instead inspected her fidgeting. He considered her previous argument...how she craved his loyalty and trust. In a way she did deserve it...more or less earned it.

"One that will prove the loyalty you've asked of me."

Her helm shot to his direction and she smiled, like a sparkling. He found that she did many things that someone so inexperienced and immature would, just as she had the other solar cycle; asking him so innocently of what she could do to earn her position as well as his unwavering trust.

Still she was too cocky in her efforts, too sloppy when she moved and her skills with explosives were average at best. If not below average. He'd once given her a simple bomb to remodel, and it only built a disastrous attempt rather than any legitimate form of practice or experience. Synopsis had laughed at the look he'd given her, one he knew questioned what in the Pit she'd just created, and simply gloated over her failure in telling him 'I told you I have no idea what I'm doing...'. Though he maintained the usual composure, he had to admit...her lack of skill was fairly annoying, frustrating to say the least.

She stiffly leaned back with crossed arms, grinding her dentals and tapping her stabilizing servo consistently against the floor in a rather irritating way. She wanted revenge...but this was all in the blessed name of 'Lord Megatron'. What was she if she refused to kneel to neither side? A neutral? No...how pathetic. Cowards and energon-huggers were neutrals...she was just stubborn. 'Ops huffed a laugh, jolting in the action and offlining the monitor before turning to concern herself elsewhere.

"What humors you?" He raised a metal brow and asked it so simply, something that the femme hadn't been used to. Vorns had passed, and it was still so unfamiliar of him to become...relaxed. Almost impossible around her much less unusual.

"You're so loyal to Megatron...yet you've never even associated with the mech." She grimaced, staring at the edges of her finger components before scraping one of the sharpened edges. Dreadwing raised his tone, a warning behind his voice in reference to the upcoming conversation.

"You still challenge yourself in doubting our leader?" He stepped forward, the ignorance and hard-helmed nature of this femme unbelievable even after such a long period of training her, of improving and helping her.

"Of course I do, you said it yourself...I never learn."

"Do not test my patience, Synopsis."

"Do _not_ test mine." Her voice was deep as she mocked him and stuck out her glossa; the smile she wore spreading while her arms crossed and the tires in her legs spun. He simply grimaced and shook his head. Such a sparkling, sometimes. He needed to break that...perhaps for his own self-benefit, or perhaps for her own good. Despite the nicer option he would be crass about it...make her realize that he required a strict form of respect from everyone below him, especially her. She was no exception, but she had yet to even care much less realize it. She was just there to learn, Synopsis though, as though she hadn't already spent countless cycles beside him and arguing with him.

The femme shifted uncomfortably while seeing herself lucky that any potential had shined in her lowest moment of fear, and thanking Primus that Dreadwing had even bothered with keeping her alive all that time ago. No matter how tough she acted since then she was still afraid...deathly afraid of him and what he could do. He was larger, meaning slower and stronger...but she was faster.

She reminded herself of her capabilities every solar cycle...that her speed would be her simple plan of escape if it was ever needed, or if Dreadwing ever decided that she was just a useless cause. Which in all reality she was. But he still seemed to respect the idea of vengeance, of going back to the ones who attempted to feed you to the scraplets and taking the justice you rightfully deserve. There is where they shared interest.

"Perhaps you should focus more on the definition of respect, Synopsis." It was another warning, she noted. A blunt one that needed nothing more than the defined accent in his tone to be considered deadly.

"Perhaps I should." She murmured it carefully, that pang of fear warning her of her smart-aft remarks and how reckless her mouth could be. Still a coward, she inwardly scolded herself. Around a Decepticon she needs to watch what she says. Her attitude had never been a flaw until recently.

"Leave the Autobot for now, we'll track him until he leads us to a more convenient target." And he turned and left, the doors slipping shut with a hiss that matched her sigh of fierce irritation. She wanted Wheelack's helm set on a silver platter...not blown into dust.

* * *

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